The Boy that became Herald
by dominicgrim
Summary: A thirteen year old boy named Robin Trevelyan survives the explosion at that Conclave and is forced into a world of darkness and danger, a world with no place for a child. No romantic pairing yet, likely an OC later. POV from his companions. I do not own Dragon Age.
1. Cassandra

**The Boy who became the Herald**

 **Chapter 1: Cassandra**

 **The Hinterlands: 9:41 Dragon**

" **FOR ANDRASTE!"**

The war cry rang out as the boy charged, fair haired and handsome, sword in hand and shield before him. All around them the soldiers of the newly formed Inquisition took up the call, charging after their over-eager herald. Men and women ready to give their lives for both the faith and the cause.

Cassandra Pentaghast frowned.

 _Foolish boy,_ she thought to herself.

 _Is he trying to get himself killed?_

He charged in, meeting a Templar knight blade upon blade. Normally, that might have been the end for anyone who would dare attack someone as well trained a Templar, yet Robin did not falter, he dodged his opponents attack, and before the knight could respond, the boy's blade found the soldier's throat, ending their confrontation in a spray of blood. The Templar fell as the boy rushed off to engage another enemy. Such a victory would have seemed unthinkable once, the Templars had been the best of the best, but were no longer the warriors or champions of the faith they had once been. Since the order had struck out on its own, the Templars had lost a step or three; they were not the fighters they had been when they had marched beneath the chantry's banner. It was clear that either arrogance or a lack of lyrium had weakened these men's skills.

Cassandra suspected the latter rather than the former, she had seen what lyrium withdrawal could do.

It was **not** something to be taken lightly.

Their young herald was skilled, but that did not mean that his victory was all his.

Things were not what they once were in Thedas.

She hoped that the Herald would help change that, that he would do what needed to be done to restore sanity and compassion to the world.

Hopefully, she thought, he would live long enough to do that.

The Seeker had only agreed to this mission because the rest of the council thought that Mother Giselle's support would be worth it. The Herald had proven himself a decent enough fighter during their assault on the breach a few weeks earlier but…

Her frowned deepened.

He had courage, none would doubt that, but he was also young, young and impulsive…

Those traits were known to get someone killed.

Clad in fine armor, wielding the sigil of the ancient House of Trevelyan, the boy still seemed out of place. Thirteen years old, about to turn fourteen next month, Robin Trevelyan had been sent by his family to the Conclave, to represent their interests. As a fourth born son, he had been tapped early on to enter the clergy, more specifically the Templar order, and had been training for almost five years towards that goal, or so Robin had said.

It was a path that had been disrupted when the Templars left the chantry, when they had decided to take the war to the mages on their terms, no matter what Divine Justinia had said.

Things might have been different had the Seekers of Truth not decided to join the order in this insanity. Lord Seeker Lambert had broken the accord with the chantry and had not even looked back. His assassination early in the war had prevented the man from profiting from his betrayal, but still the war dragged on, and had dragged on these many months.

Neither the Templars nor the mages had been willing to listen, refused to compromise…now the Inquisition would force them to.

Their war would end whether they liked it or not.

Varric Tethras stood at her side, firing bolt after bolt from that crossbow of his. Each shot kept another enemy off their young herald's back, the boy had not yet learned to be aware of his surroundings; he needed others watching his back.

Fortunately, Varric, rogue that he was, was up to the task. Not that he was unaware of Robin Trevelyan's short comings, oh no.

"Kid is going to get us killed," the dwarf grumbled.

Cassandra almost sighed.

Alas she agreed.

It seemed impossible that a mere thirteen year old boy could survive a cataclysm that had ended the life of so many at the Conclave, but he had. He had been the only survivor, and therefore the only suspect. They had taken him into custody, and likely would have executed him had the breach not been their first priority.

She remembered the first time she had faced him, even in chains the boy had looked up at her manfully; he had fought back a child's tears, though they had glistened in his eyes. His noble blood and training had led him to aid them.

He had saved them, saved Haven, the breach was now stable, as was the mark on his hand. Solas, the apostate that had been aiding them since the Conclave believed that the boy might be the key to all of this, that the mark on his hand could be used to seal the breach for good…

Whether through fortune or providence, Robin Trevelyan was likely the only hope for their salvation.

Cassandra leapt into the fray, engaging a pair of Templar archers. They hesitated when they saw her black armor, the markings of the Seeker upon her breast. She cut them down before they could send anymore arrows towards Robin. She had seen one arrow glance off his armored shoulder, any higher it might have taken him in the throat; that would have been the end of the boy.

She could not allow that to happen.

Fool boy, she thought again.

He is too brash, he doesn't think, he…

He…

For the briefest of moments the face of an old man flashed before her, the old Seeker that had taught her the ways of the order over twenty years ago.

Byron…

His words rang through her thoughts.

 _Cassandra you are too brash, you must_ _ **think**_ _before you act._

Despite her frustration at their young hero, the thought almost made her smile.

She had only just turned sixteen when her mentor had spoken those words, sixteen and so full of faith and anger. Only two short years older than the boy she now shielded.

Irony, she thought.

It seemed that the Maker had a great sense of irony.

Had Byron been here, he would have laughed at the situation that she now found herself in. She, his unruly and undisciplined student now forced to endure one of her own, with the fate of the world at stake.

Too young she thought.

He was far too young to have the fate of the world on his shoulders.

She knew what that was like; she had been too young when the events of the ten year gathering, now twenty years past, had forced her to grow up, to become both a woman and the Right Hand of the Divine. That had been her duty, nothing more. Robin had been more than eager to join this fight, far too eager, perhaps he saw only the glory he would win in the battlefield?

Such a thought turned her stomach.

Glory was for tales and songs. The boy needed to learn, just as she had.

What was happening here was no game.

He had been thrust into a dark and dangerous world, a world that crushed the innocence out of the most pious souls. He would need to fight, to sacrifice everything for those that would never thank him for it.

Just has she had, just as Galyan had.

The thought made her shudder.

It had not been right, she realized, it had not been fair.

Then again, life rarely was.

A rogue mage attacked the boy; a fireball flew from the man's staff. Robin brought up his shield; the rearing horse on its face took the brunt of the attack. Cassandra moved to engage the mage, but was cut off by one of their loyal soldiers. He met the mage blade against staff, but was struck down when the mage caught him with the mace that graced the war staff's end, the soldier died without a sound. His killer following him into death when an inquisition arrow caught the mage in the eye, and the whole time the Herald remained oblivious, too caught up in his duel with another Templar.

Cassandra's eyes narrowed.

 _Did the boy know that others were dying around him to shield him?_

 _And even if he did, would he care?_

Robin Trevelyan needed to be protected, she did not doubt that, but that did not mean that she would let him become oblivious to the deaths around him.

He is just a boy, she reminded herself.

He needs to learn.

" **For Andraste!"** he shouted again raising his red blade.

" **FOR ANDRASTE!"** the soldiers, the _surviving_ soldiers, around him shouted as the made their final push against the rebel mages and Templars.

As the last of their enemies fell, she took silent tally of those they had lost, an archer here two warriors there.

Robin stood beside Varric as the Inquisition planted their banner in the ground of the crossroads.

Robin Trevelyan grinned widely, pleased with himself and this victory.

Cassandra frowned.

It fell to her to make sure that he understood that this was not all a game, that this was life and death.

She would make their young Herald understand.

Playing at war was for a child.

He no longer had that luxury.

He was the Herald of Andraste, a symbol of the Faith.

Being a boy was no longer an option.

He needed to become a man, a good and strong man.

It fell to her to make sure that he lived that long.

Maker help them all.


	2. Varric 1

**Chapter 2: Varric 1**

Flissa's was busy when Varric first made his way through the door. The Ferelden born bar keep was currently tending to the needs of their soldiers as the dwarf made his way towards the back of the room, as was his way. One of Flissa's helpers, a young girl who Varric had met shortly after the first assault on the breach noticed him and hurried to grab his usual.

He smiled as she arrived with it, nodding in gratitude, and dropping a handful of coppers on the table.

The girl smiled as she scooped them up. He was pleased to see that he was well known enough in Haven now that people took notice of his wants and needs. It wasn't what he had had back in Kirkwall, but at least he could say he was comfortable in his new…surroundings.

He smiled to himself.

Flissa's might not have been _the Hanged Man_ , but if he closed his eyes. The smell of cheap liquor and the sound of soldiers' rough talk made him feel that he was not completely outside the world he knew.

Homesickness was a killer, he thought to himself. He had spent all his life in Kirkwall, minus the few times that Hawke had dragged him off on this adventure or that. It was nice to have a little taste of home, even if it was only for a few short minutes.

He was just about to take his first drink when a shadow fell over him; he looked up to see their young Herald standing there. Robin Trevelyan seemed a bit distracted; he looked around for a second or two before saying a word to Varric or anyone else.

When he spoke his voice was softer than usual, softer than Varric had ever heard it truth be told.

The boy gave him a nervous smile.

"May I join you?"

The question caught Varric a little off guard. They had only just returned to Haven after a harrowing month and a half in the field.

 _Nasty out here_ , he had thought to himself many times, _very nasty. Templars and mages tearing into each other with too many innocent people caught in the crossfire._

 _Thanks a bunch, Blondie!_

During that time he had spoken only a little with their boy Herald. Robin Trevelyan did not seem to like him very much, preferring the company of Cassandra or the many officers and scouts that always seemed to flock around him. Varric never took offense to that. Most people had a rather…unflattering opinion of his people, not that they had not earned that rather bad reputation. He only had to think of his brother Bartrand for an example of that.

He frowned.

He was no hero, he had never wanted to be, he only found himself in the company of heroes, whether it be Hawke or King Alistair.

Varric made no apologies for whom and what he was. He had long ago accepted the fact that he was a dwarven story teller and a business man.

He was comfortable with that.

He gave the kid his most winning smile, hoping it would set him at ease.

"Have a seat, kid," he said, "No point in standing on formalities."

Nodding, Robin Trevelyan sat down; shifting his chair ever so slightly that it didn't bump into a passing Inquisition scout on his way to the bar. The soldier didn't even acknowledge the boy in passing, not that that was surprising. Out of his fancy armor, clad in simple leathers and a heavy fur cloak, Trevelyan looked like any other young squire or recruits that currently resided in Haven. If not for the mark on his hand, he could have passed for anybody.

Which was likely the point, Varric figured, typically Trevelyan was not the type to go unnoticed. Varric had seen ample evidence during their time fighting in the Hinterlands. The kid seemed to be comfortable taking center stage in whatever he did, seeing him be so cautious now…

It was…curious to say the least.

The boy looked around carefully, checking to see if anyone had noticed him yet.

Varric gave him an arched look.

"Problem?" he inquired.

"No," the boy said with shrug, "not really…well…it…it just…"

Trevelyan shook his head and sighed.

"Can you keep a secret?" he asked.

Varric almost whimpered.

Could he keep a secret? Sure. Did he like to, not really. Varric was a storyteller at heart, and when one of the most recognizable people in the Inquisition started a conversation like that, his inner storyteller sat down and got ready to set ink to paper, the thought that what he was about to be heard would have to be kept in confidence at least for now…it…

It was trying, to say the least.

"What's wrong?" he asked, "I'll keep it between us."

The boy swallowed hard and nodded, it was at that moment that the serving girl brought him an ale. Varric was tempted to make some crack about the boy should be drinking milk, but thought better of it, not wishing to offend their young herald.

Kid had barely said a hundred words to him out in the Hinterlands, if Varric had a chance to bring him into his confidence he thought it wise to take it.

No point in alienating the Herald of Andraste.

The boy waited until the server was gone, clearly not wishing her to hear anything. Varric could only imagine what kind of juicy story the kid had for him.

"Seeker Cassandra cannot know," he said.

Varric gave him his best conspiratory grin, already liking the direction this was going.

"The Seeker will hear nothing from me," he promised, "You have my word."

Robin nodded again.

"Okay," he said taking a deep breath, "It is about the company of priests that arrived yesterday, you saw them I hope?"

Varric shrugged, the comings and goings of the clergy had never really interested him. The Seeker and Sister Leliana's presence here pretty much made sure there would always be priests sniffing about. Whether they were friends or foes remained to be seen.

"Several of them were from Starkhaven," the boy continued, "I know that…because…well…because I recognized one of them."

"So the priest is a former advisor to your family, or perhaps just an old friend?"

Trevelyan winced.

"I would not call her an old friend, not exactly. She…is um…she is new to the faith I think. Her name is Sophie, Sophie Sinclair. She is…well…um…ah…"

Varric waited, he had never seen their Herald so nervous before. He had seen the boy leap into battle against hardened soldiers, mages, and outlaws without batting an eyelash, now…"

"It is okay, kid," he said reassuringly, "So this girl…she is…what?"

The boy winced again.

"She is um…my wife."

Varric tried hard to keep the look of shock from showing on his face. Of all the things the Herald could have told him, this was not one of them.

"Your…wife?"

The boy nodded.

"Like you're married?"

The boy blushed.

"Not my wife, exactly," he added quickly, "My betrothed, She would have become my wife when she turned sixteen in three years."

"Ah," Varric said.

This made more sense.

It also explained why the boy was so nervous.

"We have been promised since I was three," he continued, "But I haven't seen her in almost two years."

The boy shook his head.

"My parents ended the arrangement a few months ago. Maybe that is why she is with the chantry now."

Varric could not help himself now. There was definitely a story here, he could almost taste it.

He could not let the kid stop talking now.

"So this girl…"

"Sophie," Robin reminded him.

"So this Sophie girl was to be your bride?"

"Yes."

"So what happened? Why are you not in Starkhaven right now deciding on seating arrangements?"

Robin winced again.

"That…that is complicated."

He sighed.

"The Sinclair family was not as "storied" as House Trevelyan, they never had the history behind them," The boy explained, "Yet our fathers have known each other since they were teenagers, they fought together in the melee at the grand tourney when they were young. They had been friends ever since. When Lord Sinclair only had a daughter, my father saw a chance to expand our holdings and cement his relationship with an old ally."

"He offered you?"

The boy nodded.

"I'm a fourth born son," Trevelyan reminded him, "Normally I would have been given to the faith to serve as a Templar or a brother."

He gave Varric a sheepish grin.

"I'm not _**that**_ religious, despite how I act in battle. Cassandra and the other leaders need me to be, so I give them what they want. Anyway, Sophie is only a year younger than me. When we wed I was to take the Sinclair name and rule their families' holdings. Our…um…children would continue that line."

"Giving your family access to whatever the girl's family had if they needed it?"

"Yes," Robin said, "I'm glad you understand."

Varric snorted.

"Kid, I'm _a dwarf_. We practically _invented_ the concept of politically advantageous marriage."

Trevelyan blushed again.

"I suppose that is true."

Varric leaned back in his chair. Seeing Trevelyan sitting there, he saw their Herald in a new light. He did not see some warrior or holy hero. All he saw was a fourteen year old boy wrestling with what it meant to be a member of a noble house and trying to find his own place in the world, and despite any recent and fantastic events, was still just as lost as any other kid his age.

In short, he felt sorry for him.

"So," he said trying to get things back on track, "Why is your girl here? Why is she in the chantry?"

Robin frowned.

"I don't know the full story," he said, "A few months before the conclave; we got word that Sophie's father had been arrested in Starkhaven. This was about the time that Prince Sebastian had returned to try and reclaim his throne. House Sinclair had spent a lot of time in the last few years trying to build up a relationship between themselves and Prince Goran and the new guard nobles that have been ruling for the last few years."

"Ah, I think I get it," Varric said, "The girl's parents sided with the losing side in Starkhaven. When Sebastian came, they didn't switch sides and now are paying the price."

"I guess," Robin said morosely, "All I know is that when it was all said in done I was informed that I would not be marrying Sophie, and that I was likely going to be sent to the chantry after the Divine settled matters between the mages and Templars."

The boy shook his head.

"And so…here we are."

"And you are sure that you saw the girl among the new priests?"

"Pretty sure, yeah," Trevelyan said, "Sophie and I spent a lot of time together in the last few years, getting ready for what was…to come."

Varric nodded.

"Have you gone to see her yet?"

The boy turned scarlet.

"Blessed Andraste, No!" he gasped.

"Why not," Varric inquired.

The kid sighed and shook his head.

"What would I say to her Varric? Sorry your Da chose the wrong side in a war. Sorry you had to go to the chantry? Sorry we did not get married."

He shuddered

"I can't imagine anything being more awkward."

Varric gave him an arched look.

"For you or her?" he asked.

Trevelyan winced.

"Both of us…I guess."

Varric's brow furrowed with thought. This really had not been what he expected. It was a juicy story, but not quite what he expected.

It had peaked his curiosity however, and he now had questions.

"Are you happy that the marriage thing ended?" he asked.

The boy blinked.

"Huh?" he said.

"Are you glad that you don't have to marry this girl?"

"I…"

"Did you _want_ to marry this girl?"

Trevelyan looked around quickly, perhaps looking for an escape route, maybe wishing that he had not come to Varric with this.

Varric did not mean to make him uncomfortable, but he could not help it. Clearly, what had happened was eating at the kid.

He would not be able to deal with it until he came to terms with what he was feeling.

Trevelyan gave him a pitiful look.

"I…I really don't know, Varric," he almost whimpered, "When I was younger, I…I didn't like the idea of being told that I was to marry this girl and that was that, but…"

Varric smiled slightly.

"But?"

Robin swallowed hard.

"Sophie and I…we…we spent a lot of time together. Feast days, tourneys, my parents wanted to make sure I understood the house I was marrying into. I…I became… _comfortable_ with the idea of being Lord Sinclair one day I suppose."

The boy shook his head.

"She has changed since the last time we saw each other, less…gawky. She always was slender, but she….seeing her in the robes of a sister. She has grown up a bit in the last few years."

Trevelyan sighed.

"We were friendly, but…my father did not even lift a finger to help her family when things turned bad in Starkhaven." Trevelyan snorted angrily, "I was supposed to join their family. The least my father could have done was ask my opinion. I might have been able to convince him to come to the Sinclairs' aid. I could have done something, stopped what happened."

Robin shook his head dismissively.

"It doesn't' matter now anyway," he said morosely, "It is all gone now."

He held up his hand, the glowing mark sparked with power.

Trevelyan frowned.

"This…is my future now," he said grimly.

Varric frowned.

He tried not to think about Bianca, the real Bianca, not the crossbow, but it was difficult. He knew a bit about caring about someone when it was not politically advantageous to do so. He knew what it was like to love inconveniently.

He did not say as much to the kid, but that did not mean that he did not understand.

Did the kid love the girl? Probably not, but there was clearly some affection there, and that likely would have grown into love as they gotten a little older.

Varric sighed.

He should just leave well enough alone, he thought, that was the smart thing to do, the wise thing to do.

Varric's eyes narrowed.

He was not feeling particularly wise right now.

"Go to her kid," he advised, "Make peace with this, if you can."

Trevelyan looked up like a panicked deer.

"I can't," he said, "What if she says she hates me?! What if she blames me for what happened?!"

"At least you will know," Varric said, "I won't say it won't hurt, Maker knows this kind of thing is meant to hurt like Andraste's pyre, but at least you will have made peace with it, and with her."

Trevelyan shuddered. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Varric expected him to bolt, he probably would have had he been in the boy's position. Yet, he reminded where he was, he took deep breath looked down into his ale, and swallowed hard. Only then did he meet Varric's eye again.

"I should, shouldn't I?" He said sounding like a condemned man, "Duty demands that I at least make the attempt."

He shivered.

"If she tears into me, I suppose I deserve it. If she tries to rip my heart out, at least I will know that it is over."

The last part did not set Varric at ease; this would be hard enough without the boy going in all defensive.

"Don't go in all armor against the pain, kid," Varric said, "You do that, any words with this girl are definitely going to turn into a fight."

Varric tried to smile.

"Be apologetic, but don't forget to turn on the charm, you know how to do that, I saw it plenty of times in the Hinterlands. Have the girls we encountered were open to speaking with us because of you. Use that, it couldn't hurt."

Trevelyan looked at him like he was mad, but he did nod grimly.

"This is not going to be easy, is it?" he asked.

"It never is," the dwarf said.

Trevelyan nodded again; he took a deep breath, girding himself for battle, maybe. It was a battle the boy could not win with his sword. This likely made it one of the hardest fights he would ever face.

"Thanks Varric," he said.

"Anytime kid," he replied.

Trevelyan rose and began to head for the door, Varric leaned back in his chair, wondering why the kid thought he was the one to come to with his girl problems, and he had never been particularly fatherly.

"Varric," Trevelyan said quickly turning back to him.

"Yeah."

The kid's expression was as serious as steel.

"Remember," he said solemnly, "Cassandra can't know."

Varric chuckled.

"Don't worry kid," he said with a smirk.

"My lips are sealed."


End file.
